On the Side of Angels
by Dreams of Shadows
Summary: We've all imagined it. That moment where we find ourselves meeting that one character we like above all others. But I guess no-one told me that when it did happen it would be on the other side of a table in a police station, and that the longer I stayed the deeper I would find myself dragged into their game. Possible eventual SherlockxOC.
1. Chapter 1

Weeks had passed since the name Moriarty had been forced from the mouth of the dying cabbie. During which time Sherlock had searched fruitlessly between cases to track down this man. With only a last name to go by though there was nothing to dig up, even for him, and so he instead turned his attention back to the dull cases that Lestrade kept piling on him. What he wanted was for something interesting to happen, something other than petty thefts and arson. When Lestrade called up the next time he was so sure it would be something dull that he was fully prepared to ignore him.

"Just answer the phone Sherlock," John had said with considerable irritation- apparently last nights date hadn't gone well.

"I'm not interested in listening to another of Lestrade's dull cases," the detective had replied, sinking into his armchair with his violin hugged to his chest. He plucked absentmindedly at the strings, considering the best way to lure out a criminal that didn't involve shouting his name from the rooftops. "He's going to have me searching for lost pets soon."

"You don't know that." John had been pretending to read the paper, something which tended to work better when you didn't stare at the same page for twenty minutes. Practically on the edge of the sofa, his body was tensed up and if Sherlock had been able to have seen his face he would have bet that his face shared the same suspense.

"Mycroft isn't planning a raid is he?" Sherlock sighed as he plucked another of the strings, the phone continuing to ring incessantly. "Why doesn't he just give up already- I'm not going to answer."

"And how's he supposed to know that?" John lowered the paper in one quick movement, annoyance plastered across his face. He had stared for a few seconds at the phone before getting it up and taking it from the detective, answering for him instead. "What do you mean appeared out of nowhere?"

Now that was interesting.

**Chapter One:**

"On second thoughts this might not actually be that interesting," Sherlock commented as he observed the woman through the glass.

Upon arriving at the Police station they'd had a nice little chat with Donovan before Lestrade came and ushered them into the observation room. John looked around the room as though it actually held appeal; what was so fascinating about a big black box escaped Sherlock and instead he put his attention on the woman who had supposedly appeared out of nowhere. Hunched over the table somewhat limited his observations, as well as the fact he was in a different room from her.

"Hang on," began Lestrade, turning to face him and crossing his arms in a brilliant impression of an angry father. "Are you telling me you're not going to help?"

"Oh I didn't say that, did I?" Sherlock turned his head to look at the inspector, a smirk settling on his face. "I only said this won't be that interesting- but I can't have idiots like Anderson believing in magic now."

"How very thoughtful of you," John muttered under his breath. Sherlock cast him a quick glance. Apparently the date had gone very badly.

"She appeared out of nowhere- I assume there are reliable witnesses?" questioned the detective. Whatever John's relationships trouble were they weren't his problem.

"Well we've got quite a few witnesses-" began Lestrade.

"Yes but are they reliable?" he interrupted, taking a few steps closer to the glass and swivelling around to face them. "It's the middle of the day, the majority of London is out and they're all as unobservant as you lot which leads to the question of how these people managed to spot someone appearing out of nowhere. Where exactly was she found?"

"Westminster Bridge Road; just in front of Big Ben actually."

"So it was tourists then." Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed. "I presume there is CCTV footage in that area?"

"Yes and we did look at it but there was nothing."

John lifted his head up as he frowned, turning to look at Lestrade.

"What do you mean there was nothing?"

"I mean what I said," replied the inspector with a shrug. "Several minutes of footage are missing."

"Obviously a set up then." Sherlock was disappointed- he's expected something less blatantly obvious. "I'll assume that all the other cameras in the nearby vicinity experienced the same problem."

"They did," confirmed Lestrade. "But so did every camera within a 10km radius- and not just CCTV; mobiles, digital cameras and webcams- they're all acted up during that time."

"None of it worked?" asked John in surprise , glancing over at the woman as though he expected her to hold all the answers- which she might.

"That is what he said John, do keep up," replied Sherlock. His mind was already racing to find an answer to this. "I want to speak to her."

"You want to speak to her?" echoed Lestrade in surprise.

"Yes, that is what I just said." Sherlock sighed, shaking his head at the two men. "Honestly, what is up with you two today, you're being very slow."

"Well I can't let you do that," protested Lestrade.

"Why not?"

"Because she's a suspect."

"In what?" asked Sherlock. "Just because a handful of witnesses say she appeared out of nowhere doesn't mean she actually did- have you heard of lying? It's something that everyone does."

"But why would they lie about someone appearing out of nowhere?" asked John.

"Oh I don't know, but I'm guessing it has something to do with the cameras so let me speak to her." Sherlock waited impatiently. Lestrade would cave in, he always did he hadn't regretted it yet.

"Fine, but try not to be your usual self- she seems pretty traumatised as it is," Lestrade said, leading Sherlock through to the room. John made to follow, but Sherlock put a hand out to stop him. The doctor looked at him questioningly as he watched the two men enter the room. Lifting her head up, the woman looked in turn at Lestrade and Sherlock. When her gaze met the detectives he thought he saw a glimmer of recognition- it would be too much to hope she worked for Moriarty, wouldn't it?

"Miss Walker, this is Sherlock Holmes." Lestrade said as he introduced him. Neither of them said anything and Lestrade coughed before he spoke again. "He's a consulting detective and he's here to help get this situation sorted out."

"Because you can't handle it on your own?" The woman sounded bored, her head resting on her hand. Sherlock smirked, even though he could see the fear in her eyes and her quivering she was still able to remain calm- on the outside at least. Her accent was clearly British, with just the slightest hint of Devonshire and Northern thrown in there- so not a foreign spy then.

"I'll take it from here Lestrade," he said, in case the inspector had any thoughts about lingering. The man in question shot him a warning look before leaving them. When the door had closed he took the seat opposite her, observing her closely.

Ink smudges on left ring and little finger, calluses on her middle finger and small cut on her right hand that could only have been done by paper- she did a lot of writing then, someone who worked in offices? No, every thing these days was done on computers, a writer then perhaps? Unpublished so probably a hobby. Multiple stains on the sleeves of her jacket from various foods, the jacket itself was at least a few years old so she had a part time job in a café that didn't pay too much. Tattoos on both her wrists, a flock of black birds flying, in psychological terms someone who wanted to escape from the boring humdrum of normal life. Another part time job at a bar judging by the list written on her right palm. She didn't put much effort into her appearance; her dark auburn hair tied back in a messy ponytail, the stains on her jacket and the frayed hem on her jeans that he had seen from the observation room. However her boots were New Rocks and almost looked new apart from the creases where they had been bent. Someone who is probably in debt then.

"Are you done yet?" she asked, interrupting his thought process. She was a lot more uncomfortable now and the way her gaze studied him suggested she didn't expect him to be here- as though he should be dead.

"Did it look like I was done?" he asked her, raising an eyebrow. She didn't say anything. "I'm just trying to figure out how a completely uninteresting and ordinary woman like you managed to get involved with something like this."

"'Something like this'?" she echoed, leaning back into her chair and folding her arms across her chest. "Pray tell me what 'something like this' is because quite frankly I don't have a clue."

High levels of anxiety in her voice- to be expected.

"You are at the centre of this so how can you not know," he countered.

"Just because a group of idiots pointed me out doesn't mean I'm a the centre of this- have you ever heard of the term scapegoat?"

"Many times and I don't think that's applicable here." Sherlock leant across the table. "Why don't you 'pray tell' why it is that you treat me like we've met before when I know full well I've never seen you before in my life."

She didn't say anything, her eyes widened in surprise and she bit her lip hesitantly. But she didn't say anything. There appeared to be some internal battle going on and she was at a loss at how to respond.

"You wouldn't believe me," she finally said, looking down and chewing at her lip. "You'd just think I was crazy and lock me away in an asylum."

"Try me," Sherlock said slowly.

Her gaze slid across to the mirrored glass, where she knew Lestrade would be watching them.

"To tell you the truth I don't even believe it myself," she said quietly, sitting up again she leant forward. "You're supposed to be the smart one here- you figure it out.."

A trace of anger had entered her voice, as well as accusation- was she hysterical?

"Don't let me have all the fun." He leant forward as well. "Why don't you tell me anyway?"

"Because," she began. "I don't trust you."

"Well we'll have to do something about that, won't we?"

* * *

"You want to do what?" John snapped as the consulting detective waltzed back into the observation room. "Sherlock, she's a criminal."

"Is she John?" asked Sherlock smugly. "There is no firm evidence nor accusation which means that Lestrade here has no reason to hold her."

Lestrade looked like he wanted to argue the point, but he knew it as well as Sherlock- and besides, it meant he knew her location should any proper charges be brought against her.

"So you want her to live with us?" Went on the doctor. "We don't even have any room for her."

"I'm sure we could get 221C fixed up," pointed out Sherlock.

"221C?"

"Plus that sofa is quite comfy."

"Sofa? Sherlock you can't expect a guest to sleep on the sofa," John protested.

"A guest? She was a criminal two seconds ago." Sherlock put on a mock thoughtful face. "Would you like to offer up your bed to her- it would only be for a couple of weeks."

"Wha- no, it was your idea Sherlock you can do it."

"And here I thought you were the chivalrous one."

They stared each other down, Sherlock watching his internal battle and smirking in triumph as defeat crossed his face.

"How kind of you." John shot him a murderous look. "Now let's go collect our parcel."

* * *

No-one would ever believe me. In truth I didn't even believe it myself. But sitting in the back of the cab with Sherlock Holmes and John Watson either side of me was too much for my mind to ignore. Part of me argued that this wasn't real, that this was all just some dream or crazy prank. Another part of me argued though that if this was just a dream then why did it feel so real, and if this was a crazy prank then what was with the teleporting thing? I knew the answers weren't likely to come to me soon so I instead decided to point my mind into cheeriness. I was with Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.

The vibrations the taxi travelling up my spine were real, that smell of cigarettes and alcohol was real, the buildings passing by were real and Sherlock's voice as he chatted away about random things; the weather, the traffic, the toes in his freezer…But so was the tension. The small space we were sitting in meant that our legs touched and I could feel that John was tense. No doubt he didn't trust me, and although it stung a little I knew that trying to befriend him was something not best done in the back of a cab. He obviously wanted to say something to Sherlock; to protest and argue against this- but he was too polite to do it in front of me and when Sherlock lapsed into silence it seemed to come crashing down onto us.

In some ways it was a relief when we arrived at Baker street, my eyes widening at the first sight of –in my opinion- the best-known address in the world. Sherlock got out immediately, I followed somewhat hesitantly and walked at a pace which allowed John to catch up with me. He didn't pay any attention to me though as we walked into the building that was to be my new home- or prison. The consulting detective was listening impatiently to Mrs Hudson as she chided him about leaving such a mess everywhere.

"Honestly Sherlock it's a wonder you can find anything," she said, before she noticed me standing in the doorway. "Hello dear- are you one of Sherlock's clients?"

"Mrs Hudson this…" Sherlock trailed off.

"Kadyn Walker," I supplied.

"Yes, she's going to be staying with us for a while- she'll be taking 221C once we've got it sorted out." With one last wide smile he disappeared upstairs.

"Is he always like that?" I asked tentatively.

"Unfortunately he's usually a lot worse," said John.

"This'll be fun then."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two:**

She recognised the flat, but she looked at everything as though it was all new to her despite the fact that she looked at several items with a sense of nostalgia. Particularly the skull. Sherlock observed her carefully as she stood awkwardly near the door, not sitting until John voiced that particular thought. There was an embarrassed smile before she took the armchair opposite Sherlock, who continued to observe her. Taking the armchair meant she was trying to distance herself from the two of them. Picking up his violin he slid the bow up and down it before playing a few random notes. Kadyn turned to meet his gaze. They stared at one another for a few seconds before she looked away and instead turned her attention to studying the flat again.

"Would you like a drink, Kadyn?" John asked her, smiling in an attempt to be friendly, but Sherlock could read him easily enough and saw that he wasn't fully trusting of her. Knowing him though he'd soon be getting along with her quite well- as long as she didn't do anything suspicious of course.

"No thank you," She replied, with her own smile and hesitated a bit before she spoke again. "I tend to be a bit difficult when it comes to drinks."

"Don't like tea or coffee then," he guessed. Sherlock rolled his eyes- there was obviously more to it than that. The most common drinks you'd find in a household were not just tea and coffee- obviously there was tap water, milk could also be expected and certain juices. Tap water contained various chemicals and traces of metal that made the taste unsavoury to some and considering that was mixed with juice then that was going to be out of the question. Milk comes all under embarrassment- some people consider drinking milk to be a child's thing and so refuse to drink it squarely because of that. "Well is there something you do like? I could go and pick something up."

"Obviously there's something she likes John, don't be an idiot," Sherlock said. "Does she look dehydrated to you?"

"Thank you for your input Sherlock," John said with a sigh. "You don't have to take everything I say quite so literally."

"Would it be okay if I came along with you?" Kadyn intervened as Sherlock opened his mouth to reply. He stared at her before forcing out several harsh notes on his violin. John shot him a warning look.

"Yeah, sure," he said to Kadyn. "Shall we get going then?"

"If you could fetch me some hearts from St Bart's on your way back that would be nice," Sherlock added as she got to her feet . John ignored him, muttering something under his breath- something that sound suspiciously like' you need one'. Kadyn just gave him a curious, if slightly disturbed look and followed after John as he left.

* * *

"Sorry about that," John said to me with an apologetic smile after we'd left the building. "Sherlock does tend to be a bit…"

"Eccentric?" I supplied. He looked over at me curiously as he hailed down a taxi.

"Well that's one way of putting it," he finally said, cursing under his breath as several taxis drove past without stopping. "Usually people say a lot worse."

"I can imagine." And I could- although really the only ones I'd heard on the show were mild compared to what it would be if it were aimed at an older age. "Must be hard having to live with him."

"I would say you'll get used to it…" he trailed off, trying to flag down the next taxi. It pulled over. "But he'll always come up with new ways to surprise you- and not generally in a good way."

"So not for the faint-hearted then?" I guessed, as he opened the door and gestured for me to get in first. I slid into the back. "Must be quite interesting though."

"That's one word for it," he replied as he got in, closing the door behind me and giving the cabbie our destination. "Just wait until you meet his brother."

"His brother?" I'd forgotten about Mycroft. If John's first encounter with was any indication then I was probably going to end up meeting him quite soon. He was the government as well so I was going to have a harder time convincing him that I wasn't a terrorist or a spy. I'd most likely find myself looked away- again- at the end of the day.

"Yup- Sherlock's arch-enemy apparently." John said that with a trace of doubt in his voice.

"I can relate to that," I said with a sigh. John looked at me in surprise and confusion.

"You can?"

"I have a younger sister and we do not get along at all- can't say we've referred to each other as arch-enemies though," I replied. "She has a 'holier-than-thou' attitude and is probably the reason teenagers got such a bad reputation. She hung out with chavs, was always getting into arguments and fights, seemingly disappeared off the face of the planet at times and always tried to make my life a misery."

"She sounds charming," John said a bit awkwardly. "I've got a sister as well and we don't get along either- it seems to be a common theme…Do you have any other siblings?"

"A younger brother actually- he's only about a year younger though. We get along a lot better although that's probably because I'm a bit tomboyish," I replied, unconsciously smiling as I thought back to all the fun we had. "Haven't seen him in a while- he joined the Air Force."

"What about you parents?" I couldn't tell if John was actually interested, making polite conversation or just trying to pry information out of me to determine of I was bad or not. I remembered that his shrink said he had 'trust issues' and I couldn't help but wonder if that definitely applied here.

"They split up years ago," I answered. "My mum remarried but my dad's still looking. I got along with them fairly well but I was quite distant from them since I preferred to keep to myself. My dad had a short temper and it scared me when he got angry. I haven't seen him in ages though since I stopped seeing him shortly after the divorce went through."

"He didn't want to see you anymore?" John guessed.

"No- I didn't want to see him anymore," I admitted.

There was a short pause, awkward silence filling the air and both of us struggling to come up with something to say after that.

"Did you… have any pets?" John asked, a bit sheepishly. "My parents wouldn't let me and Harry have any- not that she actually cared."

"We had several pets over the years- mainly cats. I actually used to have hamsters but I gave them away because they kept me up all night," I replied with a chuckle. "When I moved out for the first time I had a couple of budgies, which was all fine until I came home one day to find that my sister- who had been staying with me for a bit- had let them out of the cage when the window was open."

"Your sister sounds so lovely," John commented. We both giggled and the tension was broken. "I suppose it gives you some preparation for Sherlock though."

"Are you saying that Sherlock's like my sister?" I asked, with mock annoyance. "Because you should know that we did have several spectacular arguments- one that ended when the police arrived because the neighbours thought we were going to kill each other."

"Wow, sounds like you had an interesting childhood," he commented.

"Not really," I disagreed, looking out of the window at the buildings passing by. "It was actually fairly normal apart from the arguments with my sister- the highlight of my life."

"Guess you were glad when you finally moved out then- I know I was." John sighed, drumming on his leg. "Harry's my older sister so I guessed I looked up to her for a bit- but then things went downhill for her and the drinking started. She had trouble keeping work so she continued to live with our parents which meant I had the pleasure of hearing her stumbling back in after a late night out; I could hear her and my parents arguing sometimes- the word disappointment was mentioned several times. I often wondered if my life was going to turn out like hers, so I endeavoured to do better- I decided to follow my dream and actually became a doctor. Joining the army was something I always wanted to do as well, but I guessed it was also partially because I wanted to distance myself from her. Things were going well…until I got shot and ended up back here."

There was another pause. I didn't know what to say to that. I was glad when we reached our destination, the towering superstore which loomed over the vehicle and made me feel smaller than I already did. Getting out, I waited for John as he paid the driver. Looking around I spotted a black car waiting behind the taxi. It wouldn't have bothered me were it not for the tinted windows and general feel of distrust about the car.

"Shall we go in then?" asked John, after he gave the car a suspicious glance. I think we were both thinking the same thing at that moment- Mycroft. Nodding back to him I fell in step besides him as we walked into the store. "You can sleep in my bed by the way- not together of course, I mean I'd take the sofa."

"I don't think I'd be comfortable with taking your bed," I replied, wondering what was with the sudden change in conversation.

"Well I wouldn't be comfortable with you sleeping on the sofa and Sherlock is unlikely to lend you his bed even if he doesn't sleep in it," pointed out John.

"Well we could take it in turns," I suggested. He mulled it other before nodding slowly.

"Fine, but since I slept in the bed last night it's your turn today," he answered. We both chuckled again. "I should warn you though that Sherlock will play his violin at all hours."

We walked down the isle with the drinks and after a few minutes debating we picked out a few drinks, then looked about in case there was anything that they- or we, now- needed. When we had got all the things we needed we went to pay, but the lines were atrocious and looking around I saw that the self-service machines were free.

"Why don't we use them?" I asked. John looked at them in mistrust. "They're really easy to use- I always use them."

"Fine- but only so I don't have to wait," he replied. We walked over to them and I took charge, scanning and bagging the items easily. After which I took several crumple notes from him, smoothing them out before inserting them into the machine. It took a few tries to get it to accept them but eventually in did and after collecting his change we were on our way out. There were no taxis outside but the black car was still waiting and judging from the grey clouds that started to fill the sky it was going to rain soon.

"We might as well call one," John commented, after a glance at the sky. He indicated to the phone located just inside the entrance. "Hopefully they won't take too long."

"I'll wait here in case one shows up," I told him. He looked uncertainly over at the black car before nodding and heading inside. Truth be told I didn't want to wait out here with that car, but if it was really Mycroft then he wasn't just going to drop it. In my head I imagined that getting it over with sooner rather than later was probably the best thing to do.

It seemed to be getting colder. Hugging my jacket tighter to myself I hoped that the taxi wouldn't take too long to get here.

"Miss Walker?"

I turned around with clenched teeth. Sure enough, the back door of the car had opened and Mycroft's assistant stood there- surprisingly without her face buried in her phone.

"Can I help you?" I asked, looking at her with a bit of dread. This was not going to well.

"If you'd like to get in please," she said. I glanced over to where John was, his back facing us- no intervention then.

"My parents taught me never to get rides from strangers," I replied. 'Anthea' merely smiled before getting into the back of the car. The door remained open and I knew there was no getting away from this. So with one final glance over my shoulder I resigned myself to the fact that I was going to have to do this and got into the back of the car.

* * *

"You must be Miss Walker then, how nice to meet you."

"I wish I could say the same," I replied, keeping my tone level as I met the gaze of the elder Holmes with what I hoped was confidence. But no doubt he could read me like a book and knew that I was nowhere near as calm as I was pretending to be. My heart was racing in my chest, the large empty space of the abandoned building making me feel far more exposed. The car was waiting outside and Anthea stood just next to the door- the only way out.

"So you're my brothers latest interest then, "Mycroft said, ignoring my comment. "I can certainly see why. We have no records of your existence at all, and according to some you appeared… out of nowhere."

His lip curled slightly and I swallowed as I imagined him locking me away for the rest of my existence.

"But I'm not interested in any of that- I'll leave that mystery for my little brother to solve," he said, leaning on his umbrella. "I actually came here with an offer for you."

"So you don't think I'm some kind of terrorist?" I asked, a little uncertainly as I wondered if this was some kind of trap.

"Hardly, Miss Walker." There was that curled lip again. "I've met many terrorists and spies in my time and I can safely deduce that you are no threat to the country."

"Why do you want to speak to me then?" I was more than a little confused- and suspicious.

"Well as I told you only seconds ago- I have an offer for you," he replied patiently. "You see I do worry about Sherlock and I would feel much better if there was someone to keep an eye on him."

"I believe John already does that."

"Yes- letting him get into the back of a taxi drove by a serial killer." Mycroft gave me a pointed look. "He's doing such a grand job. No, I need someone who will report back to me and let me know what he's up to."

"I would imagine you've already got surveillance on him if you're really that concerned," I pointed out.

"Careful Miss Walker, that sounded an awful lot like a refusal," Mycroft said, wagging his finger at me like I was a naughty child. "You see. I may have forgot to mention that if you accept you will be given an identity and paid a generous sum-"

"Not interested," I snapped. Mycroft waited for a few seconds before speaking again.

"…And if you refuse you will subjected to incarceration for your remaining years. You see, I may believe that you aren't a threat but there are others who are less convinced. If you do this for me then perhaps I will be able to do something about them."

"So I've got no choice then," I replied through gritted teeth.

"Oh I don't know about that- but someone sensible would see that this is the better option," he said, a hint of triumph in his pose. "And you look like a sensible person, Miss Walker. So what will it be?"


	3. Chapter 3

In the end there really was no choice, no matter what Mycroft had said on the matter. I couldn't refuse him if I wanted my freedom, and –as I pointed out to myself- Sherlock didn't seem too bothered by the fact when he asked John about it. It also meant I wouldn't have to sponge off the two- something which had left me feeling uncomfortable about this. Sitting in the back of the car as I was taken back to 221B Baker Street, Anthea besides me on her phone, I studied my own that Mycroft had given in order to keep in touch. Well, he'd had Anthea hand it to me rather. Scrolling through the contacts, I saw he'd taken the liberty of giving me both Sherlock's and John's numbers as well as his own- he'd even installed Angry Birds, how thoughtful.

We arrived back just as the rain finally stopped and I offered Anthea no good bye's as I got out of the car and walked across the short distance of path to the door. Mycroft had probably told them I was coming; John opened the door before I had even knocked and I wondered if I was imagining the slight hint of concern in his eyes. He probably noticed my annoyed expression with ease, letting me come in and only asking me questions once he'd closed the door.

"I see you met Mycroft then," he guessed, making a sweeping gesture to indicate I should go ahead of him. "Offered you money to spy on Sherlock?."

"And incarcerate me if I didn't," I replied, a little too harshly. I took a deep breath and shook my head. "Sorry, I'm just a bit annoyed."

"I don't blame you," John replied as we reached the top of the stairs. "You've had a hell of a day."

"How did you like my brother?" asked Sherlock as we entered the flat, still sitting in the same place though now in his dressing gown. If it wasn't for that I would have been prepared to swear that he hadn't moved from that spot.

"He's the devil," I replied as casually as I would about the weather and the detective chuckled. Taking the seat opposite him I ran my hands through my hair. "You already know what happened, don't you?"

"Yes, Mycroft does have the habit of being predictable," he replied, smirking. "I shouldn't worry though- he'll contact you when he wants to know something. I'll even help you out with the spying if you split the fees- he's paying you far too much anyway."

"Fine, whatever," I said, not even bothering to argue that. I was exhausted. John was right, I'd had a hell of a day and I don't think I could have dealt with anymore of… this. It was all just too much.

"Your brother is very persistent," commented John, after having taken a seat on the sofa.

"Of course he is- he can't keep himself from prying into my life," replied Sherlock. "You'd have thought all the cameras he had trained on this place would be enough"

"Cameras?" echoed John, voicing both of our concerns. "Is your brother spying on us?"

"Are you really that stupid?" asked Sherlock, with an affronted look. "He's asked you to spy on him, he's asked Kadyn to spy on me, he was following your progress on the way home before he kidnapped you and he knew where to find me when I went with the cabbie. I think it's fairly obvious that he's spying on us."

At least he remembered my name this time, I reasoned as John looked at the detective, clearly offended and probably thinking of punching him in the face.

"Are you feeling alright John? You've been slow today- well, slower than usual," Sherlock asked, not looking the least bit concerned. "How did your date go last night?"

"It would have gone a lot better if you hadn't been texting me every five minutes," John said pointedly.

"I needed a pen."

"I was out!" He snapped. Sherlock huffed and looked away.

"Still could have passed me a pen."

"I was halfway across town Sherlock, I wasn't going to abandon my date and come back here just to hand you a pen!"

I opted to stay out of this argument, hoping that this wasn't what it was going to be like all the time I was here.

**Chapter Three:**

As I was to find out, it was. During the weeks that followed I had to put up with various arguments between the two of them- and prevent them by getting Sherlock his pens so he wouldn't harass John whilst he was out on a date or job-hunting. No time was wasting in starting the reparations on 221C and I often found myself in the company of Mrs Hudson during those high stressful times. When he wasn't on dates, I spent time with John and visited all the places in London I'd never seen before. Sherlock mainly ignored my presence though, insisting he didn't need my help to figure out the mystery of my arrival. The only times he did speak to me were generally to tell me what I should report back to Mycroft. These reports always went unanswered and I would have worried about that were it not for that fact I hadn't been kidnapped again.

When 221C was finally finished- complete with furniture and a few groceries- I looked around my new home and found an envelope on the bed. Upon opening it I found a birth certificate, bank account details- including card and cheque book, passport and my first payment. Mycroft hadn't told me how much I was getting paid and if I had been sipping at a drink then I would have probably spewed it out. It paid more than my previous two jobs combined- not that was surprising, but it did feel good to finally have some cash in my back pocket. Even half of it going to Sherlock and the money towards rent, water, electricity – it still left me a decent amount.

I found myself continuing to spend a lot of time in 221B though, for all their faults- mainly Sherlock's- I loved spending time with them, and after spending several nights going over the whole thing- many tears were shed- I had finally come to terms with what had happened and what was to be expected of me. Unfortunately, what was expected of me wasn't as simple as it first appeared- if it ever appeared simple in the first place.

There was a loud bang from upstairs, followed by more banging and a variety of other noises that had me concerned. John had gone out a while ago to get some shopping- which meant I had retreated back down to my flat where I was currently watching reruns of House. I cocked my head to the side slightly as I considered whether I was actually going to check up on the detective. Under normal circumstances I'd have been up those stairs immediately, but these weren't normal circumstances and hearing loud noises from their flat wasn't really much of a concern- even if I could hear them.

In the end I decided to wait until after the episode had finished before I did in fact go up and check up on him. Fifteen minutes later and I was upstairs, only to find Sherlock sitting in his armchair reading. He didn't bother to acknowledge my presence as I walked around, looking for signs of whatever all that banging had been. On a hunch I checked the table and saw the scratch.

"What have you been doing up here Sherlock?" I asked, running my fingers over it.

"I don't need you checking up on me, I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself," Sherlock replied, a little sulkily. "I've been reading- nothing else."

"Then what's with the sword?"

We both looked down at the sword, then at each other. He smirked and kicked it under his chair without saying a word.

"Experiment," he replied simply.

"If it's an experiment then why did you lie about it in the first place?" I asked, his smirk changing to a frown.

"Is it any concern of yours, mother?" He said haughtily, turning his attention back to the book. "You don't have to go reporting back to my brother every time someone is sent to kill me."

"Of course not." I rolled my eyes, taking the seat opposite him and pinching the bridge of my nose. "So who wanted to kill you- Anderson?"

"I'm sure he does but no." Sherlock was smirking again. He didn't say anything else.

"I'm guessing you're not going to tell then?" I asked, even though I already knew who it was –vaguely- and what it was about. It felt weird, to be living through something that I'd seen on TV before.

"Nope."

I rolled my eyes again, listening as the sound of someone ascending the stairs reached my ears. I turned to see John enter the room, looking a good deal annoyed. Sherlock didn't acknowledge his appearance either.

"Hey," I said, lifting my hand up in a lazy wave.

"Hi," John replied, looking at me in confusion. "Has he been up to something again?"

I could feel Sherlock's gaze burning into me.

"Just came up to make sure he hadn't killed himself," I replied with a shrug. It was the truth, just with the reason why omitted. "Had a nice trip?"

"Er… I didn't get the shopping," he replied, a little embarrassed.

"Why not?" I asked, tilting my head slightly.

"I had a row in the shop. With the Chip and Pin machine," he replied. "How you can use those bloody self-service things are beyond me."

"Well for starters I don't have arguments with them," I said. "How do you even have a row with a machine?"

"Well it wasn't really a row- it sat there and I shouted abuse at it,." He turned to Sherlock, who had yet to pay any attention to him. "Have you got cash?"

"Take my card," Sherlock said, nodding to the table. He walked over to the table, finding the detectives wallet and picking out the debit card.

"You could always go yourself, you know. You've been sitting there all morning- you haven't moved since I went out. You didn't even do the polite thing and offer Kadyn a drink."

"I'm fine, thanks," I interceded. "I've only been up here for a few minutes."

"What happened to that case you were offered? The Jaria diamond?" John asked.

"Not interested," the detective replied, shooting me a warning look. "I sent them a message."

A few seconds later- he noticed the scratch on the table, judging from Sherlock's glance over- John left again, this time to hopefully return with shopping.

* * *

Sherlock waited, hoping for Kadyn to head back down to her own flat- but when it became apparent she wasn't going to he snapped his book shut and chucked it onto the table.

"Why are you here?" he asked. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Do you mean that in the spiritual or the literal sense?" she answered.

In the few weeks he'd been observing her, he noticed that her personality had begun to refer back to what was most likely her natural one. Clearly she was getting over the shock of what had happened and was growing more comfortable around the two of them- she even spent time with Mrs Hudson. She still had that sentimental side to her which John seemed to enjoy, but her more sarcastic side was starting to show through more and it wasn't just to mask her fear. From what he'd heard from John's rambling on about her, she had a sister who had a very loud bark and a very nasty bite. So the sarcasm was a method of defense against people who were more… aggressive in their personalities- such as himself.

"I notice you didn't tell John about activities," he commented casually, watching her carefully.

"Really? I hadn't noticed," she replied sarcastically. "It's not my place to tell John what you do."

"No, it's your place to tell my brother," he agreed. She shot him a glare- clearly; despite the generous pay she still disliked working for Mycroft. Perhaps her and John's 'caring' for him was what prevented them from wanting to do this- he'd have to look into that.

"Your brother has issues," she said, leaning back into the chair.

"And I don't?" he questioned. Embarrassment flickered across her eyes- sarcastic but still with moral grounds, even to him.

"Everyone does," she said quietly.

Neither of them spoke. Sherlock instead turned his attention to John's laptop, waltzing over to the table and switching it on. Kadyn watched him with a little interest as he set to work cracking the password on the computer. It didn't take him long to figure it out and he as soon surfing the web. He could see Kadyn out of the corner of his eye and noted that she had picked up one of the books discarded in the fireplace.

He'd been puzzling it through his head how she apparently 'appeared out of nowhere', all the clues pointed to her being involved with Moriarty somehow- but she had yet to show any signs of being anything other than an ordinary, dull person. So either she was a very good actress- highly doubtful- or there was something else going on here. Like with the sword and the scratch on the table she already seemed to have known what happened, yet her observational skills were no better than hers and he had missed the sword under his chair. So what was the answer to the case of Miss Walker?

Several minutes later John returned- this time with the shopping- and carried them through to the kitchen where he dumped them on the table with a thump.

"Is that my computer?" he asked. Kadyn looked up from the book to see how it would play out.

"Of course," Sherlock replied, unbothered by that fact.

"What?" John seemed taken aback.

"Mine is in the bedroom," he explained. Kadyn bit her lip as she tried to not to smile- was there something funny about that?

"And you couldn't be bothered to get up?" asked John, more than a little annoyed. Sherlock didn't answer, the answer was quite obvious after all. "Its password protected."

"In a manner of speaking. Took me less than a minute to guess yours- not exactly Fort Knox."

"You guessed my password?!" Why was he so surprised? Sherlock looked over at him and noted that Kadyn was still trying not to smile.

"There are forty-three," he explained. John just stared at him blankly.

"What?"

"Types of password. That people like you commonly use," Sherlock said.

"What does that mean; 'people like me'?"

"Stupid?" supplied Kadyn, putting the book down.

"Ordinary," he corrected, giving her a pointed look.

"You were going to say stupid," she disagreed, then picked up the book again. "Remind me not to let you near laptop."

"I doubt there's anything interesting on there," he replied dismissively, and she shot him a glare. He turned his attention back to John. "I see you've started a blog…"

John looked at him warily; "You… you read it?"

"'Imperious' not a word I've ever been called before," he said, reading through it.

"Not something I would have used either," muttered Kadyn.

"I said some nice stuff about you too… I said you knew some good restaurants," John said in an attempt to redeem himself.

"'Pompous' has a 'u' in it," Sherlock added.

"Right, thank you." John snatched the laptop away, snapping it shut. He dumped it on the sofa and collected the days mail, sinking onto the sofa and flipping through them. Sherlock could discern plenty of red letters- bills most likely. Nothing of concern to him.

"I need to get a job," John finally admitted.

"Oh, dull," Sherlock commented, taking himself back to his own chair.

"You can have mine if you'd like," offered Kadyn, closing the book once again. "It pays well enough."

"Bit of an understatement."

Thanks but no thanks Kadyn." John smiled at her. "Anyway, Sherlock. It's actually necessary if we want to eat actual food this month."

Thumbing through the letters, he discarded them on the sofa. An awkward look crossed his face and he cleared his throat.

"If you could see your way to lend me some…" He trailed off, looking over at the detective. "Sherlock did you hear what I had to said?"

"You can always ask me John," Kadyn offered, just as Sherlock got to his feet.

"I need to go to the bank."


	4. Chapter 4

I can imagine that John and I were thinking the same thing as we approached the towering steel and glass building, a gleaming sign proclaiming 'Shad Anderson: Investment Bank'. Looking up as we followed Sherlock into it and tried not to feel horribly out of place. Inside the bank was even more impressive; rows of digital clocks adorning the walls with the names of the floors illuminated in bold colours and enough security to put me on edge. I wondered how the pens were treated here?

"When you said we were going to the bank…" John trailed off.

"I'll stick to Natwest I think," I said quietly to John, noting that suits seemed to be the attire for even the customers, and here I was in jeans and a Steampunk jacket.. "Less likely to get shot there."

"It feels like I'm getting looked down on by everyone here," John said back as Sherlock approached one of the desks and spoke to the stern-faced woman who could have been my history teacher as though he had no problems with this place. "I hope Sherlock's got a good reason for dragging us here."

"What are the bad reasons for coming to a place like this?" I asked, resisting the urge to wave at the people who kept glancing over.

"Return a pen?" He suggested, and we both giggled under our breath. "I doubt they've ever heard of Bic."

"Enjoying yourselves?" Sherlock smirked as he strode over." I wouldn't act too suspicious; they take security very seriously around here."

"I can tell," I replied.

"So why are we here Sherlock?" John asked the detective. He didn't answer but instead turned and walked off.

"Come along you two."

"I get the feeling we're being treated like children," I said with a frown, but following him nonetheless- I had no desire to be left down here by myself.

**Chapter Four:**

"Sherlock Holmes."

"Sebastian," replied the detective with a fake smile, shaking the offered hand.

"How are you, buddy?" asked the banker with a friendliness as fake as the smile. "How long's it been? Eight years since I last clapped eyes on you?"

He had no intentions of making small talk with the man; it was all pointless and tedious. It wasn't as if he actually cared about any of this after all.

"This is my friend John Watson," he said, turning the man's attention away from him.

"'Friend'?" repeated Sebastian, a small twitch at the corner of his mouth giving away enough that even those two could have picked it up.

"Colleague," John corrected with fast reflex, shaking the man's hand and flinching at his strength.

"And who's this? Another friend?" Sebastian had now turned his attention to Kadyn, who was making no attempts to disguise her dislike of the man and didn't take the offered hand.

"Nope," she replied, popping the 'p'. "They lured me here with promises of sweets."

Sebastian looked slightly alarmed and John like he was about to protest against this all. Sherlock smirked as Sebastian struggled with what to say next. Thankfully for him a PA appeared at the door and he found his words once again.

"Need anything? Coffee? Water? No?" he turned to the PA. "We're all sorted here thanks."

He offered them seats and Sherlock could see that arrogant confidence return to his posture with a table between him and them. He used this opportunity to further study the man, paying particular attention to the watch on his wrist.

"You're doing well," he commented. "Spending lots of time abroad."

"Well, some…" began Sebastian, trailing off.

"Flying all the way around the world. Twice a month," he continued, putting in a suitable amount of impressed into his tone. He thought he heard Kadyn snort and out of the corner of his eyes he could see that she was on the phone her brother had supplied to her. Judging by her hand movements though she wasn't texting and instead playing some sort of game.

Sebastian meanwhile was smirking at Sherlock's deductions.

"You're doing that thing," he said. He turned to John, sparing a momentary glance of distaste towards Kadyn who was seemingly too busy to notice. Sherlock noticed her jaw tighten though. "We were at Uni together, and this guy here- he had this trick he used to do."

"It's not a trick," Kadyn interrupted before Sherlock could say those exact words. Sebastian paid no attention to her though and Sherlock felt himself grow annoyed with her. Seemingly his IQ had dropped if he was stupid enough to think it was a trick- it was also a little insulting.

"He could look at you and tell your whole life story," he continued. Kadyn muttered something under her breath that made Sherlock smirk again and John flush slightly.

"Yes, I've seen him do that," said the doctor.

"Put the wind up everyone. We hated him," said the banker, and Sherlock noticed that John looked slightly delighted to hear that.

"And now here you are asking him for help," Kadyn commented.

"Who said I was asking him for help?" Sebastian turned to her but she didn't look away from her phone.

"Well I highly doubt you've invited him here to chat about the old days," she replied pointedly and when Sebastian went to speak again she interrupted; "And I also highly doubt you're going to drop him because you're being picked on."

"I wouldn't call that picking on," Sherlock disagreed, smirking.

"Shut up," she said with exasperation and John looked at her in surprise. "As I was saying I highly doubt you'll drop him because if you even invited him at all then there's no-one else to help you."

An awkward pause filled the room as Kadyn and Sebastian stared each other down. It seemed to take hours before Sebastian chuckled and she turned her attention back to her phone, a blush spreading across her cheeks.

"Go on then," he said, turning his attention back to Sherlock. "Enlighten me, 'Two trips a month, flying all around the world'. You're quite right. But how could you tell?"

Sherlock opened his mouth to reply when Sebastian interrupted him, continuing to speak with a smirk set on his face.

"Gonna tell 'em there's a stain on my tie- from a type of ketchup you can only buy in Manhattan?" he guessed with a chuckle.

"No. I-"

"Or maybe it's the mud on my shoes," Sebastian said, interrupting again. Sherlock clenched his teeth, frustrated with the man.

"I was chatting to your secretary," he replied, just to annoy him. "She told me."

The smirk faded of Sebastian's face and it was his turn to be frustrated.

"I'm glad you could make it over," he said eventually. Sherlock could tell he was anything but now. "We've had a break in."

"Someone broke in here?" John sounded a mixture of surprised and impressed.

"Bet they didn't come for a pen," Kadyn commented and the two chuckled- no doubt some sort of private joke. Personally, Sherlock didn't find it all that funny- it must be the nerves he decided.

"Show me."

I put my phone away as Sebastian went to lead us to the site of the break in. There was just something about that man that was bringing out the worst in me and I half-wondered if it was because he hated Sherlock. I mean that was the reason why I was so set against Anderson and Donovan. The opposite reason for Irene.

I walked behind the other two as Sebastian led us across the busy floor and tried not to care that once again I was somewhere where I felt so insignificant. Cubicles took up the majority of the space, with pillars interceding at random points and several high standard offices with personalised name plates adorning the walls. We walked past all of these cubicles without any notice of the bankers as they went about their work and found ourselves being led to a darkened office in the corner with a glass front. Obviously it wasn't currently in use.

"Sir William's office," explained Sebastian. "The bank's former chairman. His room has been left here- like a sort of memorial."

I didn't really see the point in it though. He pulled out a card, swiping the electric lock and turning back to us as he spoke; "Someone broke in here last night."

"What did they steal?" asked John.

"Nothing. They just left a little message," he replied. We all walked in and waited for him to switch on the lights. I noted that the air smelt a little stale and turned my attention to the room. There was a desk set with all its items still in place; lamp, pens, blotter- the lot. It felt like an exhibit at a museum. However, my attention was then captured by the painting of who I could only assume was this Sir William- with a yellow line sprayed across his eyes.

"Not much of a message," commented John, studying it closely.

"I think it's interesting," I said, tilting my head as I looked at it. "Even if it is a line."

"Why's that?" asked Sherlock, who was busy searching over the area for signs of who could have done this.

"Well whoever did this broke into a high security bank to draw a line in an office- a bit over-the-top for a prank- and too impersonal to be a grudge," I explained. "It may be just a line to us but it's got to be a code or something meant for someone here.".

"Interesting deduction," John said. Sherlock didn't reply though and merely looked at me for a few seconds before turning back to Sebastian who had been stood out of the way.

"I assume you have CCTV footage?" he asked.

"Well that's the interesting part," began Sebastian. He indicated to the doorway. "Follow me."

* * *

Back in Sebastian's office, he brought up the footage- a series of stills for every minute that passed- and flicked through the ones from last night. We watched the grainy shots, just able to make out the portrait. The time went up from 11:30pm, 31, 32, 33 and when it got to 34… The paint appeared. Flicking between 33 and 34 it was hard to believe what had happened- even for me.

"Sixty seconds apart," said Sebastian, as if we couldn't figure that out for ourselves. "So someone came up here in the middle of the night, splashed paint around- then left within the minute."

"How many ways into that office?" asked Sherlock, studying the images carefully.

"That's where this gets very interesting," he replied, and we were made to follow him again as we made our way back down to reception.

* * *

"Every door that opens in this bank- it gets logged right here. Every walk-In cupboard. Every toilet."

I looked down at the rows or data, making little sense of it and only making educated guesses about the doors that were opened.

"That door didn't open last night?" asked Sherlock, clearly understanding it better than we did.

"There's a hole in our security," Sebastian said, shaking his head. "Find it and we'll pay you. Five figures."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cheque. I looked at Sherlock and saw he didn't seem at all interested in the money. John on the other hand did seem more impressed.

"This is only an advance," said Sebastian. "Tell me how he got in- there's a bigger one on its way."

"I don't need incentives, Sebastian," Sherlock replied coolly. Without even a glance at the cheque he breezed off. Turning to the man I shrugged at him.

"Money's not everything," I said before following the detective, speeding up to catch up with him.

"What reason do you have not to like the man?" Sherlock asked me, peering at me curiously. "He seems the sort of man you women are into these days."

I ignored that.

"He's an arrogant jerk," I replied moodily. "The kind of stuck-up, rich, Eton brat that I'd give my arm to avoid."

"Well he doesn't seem to like you so I think you can avoid arm loss."

John caught up with us as we got in the elevator, his hand in his pocket and a somewhat sheepish look on his face.

"He doesn't like you either," I pointed out. "He pretty much admitted it."

"Do you like me?" he asked suddenly, and I turned to look at his enquiring face. Raising an eyebrow I folded my arms across my chest.

"Do you care?" I countered.

"Nope," he replied. I turned my attention back to the view through the glass. "I'm curious though."

I rolled my eyes, not bothering to answer as the elevator doors opened and we made our way back over to the office. This time Sherlock took photos after instructing the two of us to stay out, and after that was done he started… dancing.

John and I stayed well out of the way as Sherlock dodged and weaved through the pillars and cubicles, spinning and ducking as he just made a fool out of himself in general. The bankers stopped and stared at him as he danced pass, but he gave no thought to them.

"If anyone asks," began John. "We don't know him."

"Agreed," I replied, unable to take my eyes away from him. I thought back to the question earlier and wondered what that was about. He certainly didn't care and I wondered if this was going to turn into some sort of scheme to find out more about my arrival. I didn't want to tell him though, he wasn't going to believe me and it would just end up with me getting humiliated and most likely locked in asylum.

Sherlock was an interesting person- then there were those cheekbones- but he wasn't a very sociable character and most of the time he just got on peoples nerves. It wasn't very hard to see why people hated him, but I put up with all of that because I was more interested in the intellectual side of his personality. His deductions were amazing and the fact that he had a mind palace… I wondered how much room I too up in that palace of his.

"The New York market is opening." A public announcement. "The New York market it now opening."

The bell rang and Sherlock joined us back at the office with a satisfied smirk on his face.

"Who taught you how to dance like that?" I asked him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five:**

After Sherlock was satisfied that he had learned everything he could from the building we departed without a word said towards Sebastian. John and I followed the detective obediently, waiting for him to divulge the reason for his smugness. He'd obviously found something of importance and we were expectant of him.

"Kadyn was right," he finally said and John shot me a surprised look. "That message was intended for someone who worked at the bank- who worked on that particular floor. We find the intended recipient and…"

"He'll lead us to the person who sent it," finished John.

"Obvious," said Sherlock.

"I'm going to go ahead and guess you already know who that message was intended for," I said, looking at him questioningly. "Care to share?"

"Pillars," he said with a smirk. "Pillars and screens. Very few places where you could see the graffiti. That narrows the field considerably. And of course the message was left at 11:34 last night, that tells us a lot."

"Does it?" asked John, still looking confused.

"It's because of the markets isn't it?" I guessed, trying to remember what had been said in the episode. "They're set in different time zones and so there would be different markets open at all hours which means it was meant for someone who was working in a particular market."

"Hong Kong," confirmed Sherlock with a nod. "That message was intended for someone who came in at midnight."

Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a narrow slip with the words 'Van Coon' written on it.

"Not many Van Coon's in the phone book," he said. He turned to the road and set about hailing down a cab. We waited patiently until one pulled up and I soon found myself acting as a buffer between John and Sherlock.

"You said back in the bank about it being too much for a prank and two impersonal for a grudge," Sherlock said tome, turning to study me. "So what do you think the message is in then?"

"A threat or a warning," I replied with a shrug.

"Something pretty severe," agreed John. "Hopefully not a death threat."

"That would be a bit troublesome," Sherlock said. John shot him a look. That wasn't what he had meant by that, even if he did share similar thoughts.

"Nothing you can't deal with I'm sure," I said, a bit sarcastic. Sherlock didn't seem to care about that though and merely chuckled under his breath. "Should keep you occupied enough to stop banging on my door in the middle of the night."

"He did what?" John asked, trying not to look amused and failing. I pinched the bridge of my nose as both of them giggled.

"We were out of milk," Sherlock offered as an explanation. "You were quite rude about it."

"You woke me up at 2am," I said sternly. "In what part of your mind do you think it's reasonable to wake someone up at that time?"

"I wouldn't try to figure it out," John said quietly to me. "You won't get anything from it."

"I needed milk," Sherlock muttered under his breath, and I imagined him pouting. "There weren't any stores open."

"And you couldn't wait?" I held up a hand. "On second thought don't answer that."

We followed Sherlock as he led us to an apartment block, a set of buzzers next to the door and one with a label that was immediately discernible from the others. He pressed the buzzer and we waited patiently for someone to answer it. No-one did. He pressed the buzzer again and again there was no reply.

"Ominous," I said casually.

"What are we going to do now, then?" John asked, as the detective frowned in thought. "Sit here and wait for him to come back?"

"How do we know he is coming back?" I pointed out.

"Just moved in," Sherlock said, indicating to the label above the one he'd pressed. The one that stood out from the others. "Floor above. New label."

"Could have just replaced it," John suggested.

"I wouldn't bother," I said with a shrug.

"No-one does," agreed Sherlock, pressing the buzzer. We waited a few seconds before we heard a woman answer.

"_Hello?"_

"Hi," said Sherlock, speaking in a more… cheerful voice that actually made him sound human. "I live in the flat just below you. I don't think we've met."

"_No. Well- I just moved in."_

Sherlock shot a victorious look at John before becoming human again.

"I've actually locked my keys in my flat," he said in embarrassment with an awkward look on his face, chewing on his lips.

"_You want me to buzz you in?"_

"Yeah," he agreed, tilting his head. "And can I use your balcony?"

"_What?"_

I tried to laugh as Sherlock pulled a face that made it clear he thought it was a perfectly ordinary request. Clearly the woman wasn't too willing with that request, but he put the charm back on and he had soon convinced her to let him 'use her balcony'. The door buzzed and we entered, Sherlock to go jump off a balcony and John and me to wait patiently for him to let us in.

* * *

Waiting outside, I leant up against the wall and was on my phone again. I sent Mycroft a message to let him know that his brother was playing acrobat and checked my inbox to make sure there were no messages on my phone about milk.

"Sherlock?" John said after knocking on the door. There was no answer. He knocked again. "Sherlock? You okay?"

"I think he's ignoring us," I offered, listening carefully for any sounds from within the flat. There wasn't really anything to hear though and I gave up interest and knocked on the door as well.

"Any time you feel like letting us in," I said.

It took a few more minutes before Sherlock came over to answer the door, a mixture of disappointment and excitement flaring in his eyes. "It seems like it was a death threat after all."

* * *

Sherlock watched Kadyn carefully as she saw the dead body for the first time, her face paling slightly and a look of anxiety appearing in her eyes. She made no attempt to approach the body and loitered in the doorway. Instead she watched the police who had arrived only seconds ago, her eyebrows furrowed slightly as she followed their progress in collecting forensic evidence- he used the term lightly.

"You think maybe he'd lost a lot of money?" John walked over to stand beside them both. "Suicide rate is pretty high among these city types."

"We don't know that it was suicide," disagreed Sherlock, walking back into bedroom and studying all the items again. When the so-called police came in they were going to ruin every bit evidence there was.

"If it was really that bad a threat then he'd try to run away rather than kill himself." Kadyn was forcing herself to look solely at either him or John.

"Or lock himself in it would seem." Walking across the room he came to look at the suitcase again, stuffed full of pants and socks. Not important, but the impression left in it was. Something long and cylindrical had been imbedded in the suitcase- stolen perhaps? "Been away three days judging from the laundry."

"Hong Kong perhaps?" Kadyn guessed, folding her arms across her chest and turning her gaze to the ground.

John placed his hand on her shoulder, giving Sherlock a pointed look as if it were his own fault there was a dead body in the room.

He had not said Kadyn had to stay; it was her own will that kept her in place.

"Then there is the graffiti." Sherlock moved over to study the corpse now. "It was obviously some sort of code. But why paint? Why not phone or send an email?"

A pause as the two of them figured it out.

"Maybe he wasn't answering…" John said slowly.

"Good. You follow."

"No."

"If we stick with the original idea then he was being threatened." Kadyn finally looked at the body, keeping her gaze steady as she forced herself to look at it. "He did something on his trip that he shouldn't have…"

Leaning over the corpse, Sherlock spotted something in its mouth. Placing his gloves on he reached in and pulled out a ball of screwed up black paper. He opened it up but it was blank.

Kadyn and John were quick to move out of the way as a police officer finally saw fit to enter the room with the dead body- a police Inspector judging from his uniform.

"Ah, sergeant." Sherlock forced a smile onto his face. "We haven't met."

"I know who you are." The officer replied without any joy. "And I'd prefer it if you didn't tamper with any of the evidence."

Sherlock stared at him pointedly before placing the soggy paper into an evidence bag and handing it over. Getting kicked out of the crime scene would be detrimental to his investigation.

"I phoned Lestrade." He didn't want to have to deal with this man. He wanted someone at least marginally competent. "Is he on his way?"

"He's busy. _I'm _in charge." He held himself up high. "And it's not sergeant. It's Detective Inspector. Dimmock."

Kadyn raised an eyebrow and her lips turned upwards slightly in some private joke.

Dimmock swept out of the room, and Sherlock shot her a questioning look as all three of them followed him out into the living room.

"We're obviously looking at a suicide," said Dimmock, and Sherlock grit his teeth. It could be amazing how blind some people could be.

"It does seem the only explanation of the facts," John agreed.

"Wrong. It's _one _possible explanation of _some _of the facts." Sherlock looked across to Kadyn in case she was going to hop on board the idiot express. She simply held up her hands and stepped out of the way of Dimmock's lackeys. "You've got a solution that you like… but you're just choosing to ignore anything you see that doesn't comply with it."

"Like?" Dimmock seemed more to be entertaining him than taking him seriously.

"The wound is on the right side of his head." He said with a smirk.

"And?"

"He was left-handed?" guessed Kadyn, catching on quicker than the other two.

"Exactly." Sherlock nodded and mimed trying to shoot himself in the right temple with his left arm. "Requires a bit of contortion."

"Left-handed?" enquired Dimmock, looking at Kadyn for explanation.

She shrugged. "Well he said right side, so I assumed that's what his point was."

"So you didn't actually notice?" What a surprise." He did feel a little disappointed. "All you have to do is look around the flat; tea stains from the bottom of mugs, where he's been resting them on the arm of that chair- the left arm. Pad and paper on the left side of his phone, means he could hold it in is right hand and take messages with his left; all of his expensive, favourite suits on the left side of his wardrobe because he'd open the left hand-door. Want me to go on?"

* * *

I could see that Dimmock was extremely irritated by Sherlock and couldn't help but feel slightly satisfied- I'd never liked the man and now I'd actually met him I'd have to say he was worse than I imagined.

"Er, no." John had noticed it as well, and unlike me felt no need to irritate Dimmock further. "I think you've covered it."

"I might as well actually," Sherlock said with a shrug. "There's only one thing left on the list. The butter knife on the kitchen surface has butter on the right side of the blade because he used it with his left. Unlikely that a left-handed person would shoot themselves in the right side of their head- I'd ask Kadyn to demonstrate but that would be a bit wasteful. Conclusion; someone broke in and murdered him. Only explanation of _all _the facts."

I was struggling to understand if Sherlock had indeed just hinted at me committing suicide just to prove his theory. Hopefully a joke even though it did seem entirely possible he'd make me do it if he thought it was useful.

"But the gun…" faltered Dimmock, unwilling to believe the theories of someone like Sherlock.

"He'd been threatened," I pointed out. "He probably had the gun to defend himself in case locked doors failed to protect him."

"Which they did," Sherlock agreed, nodding. "He had fired a shot and the fact the bullet can't be located would suggest the killer came through the window whilst the bullet went out."

I caught a word from the other officers conversation and I knew they were talking about Sherlock as a smirk formed on Dimmock's face. Evidently it wasn't only Anderson and Donovan who weren't his fans.

"Oh, come on!" The Detective Inspector chuckled. "What are the chances of that?"

"It doesn't matter what the chance is as long as it's possible," I pointed out.

"Wait for the pathologist's report." Sherlock shot me a curious look as he spoke to Dimmock. "The bullet in his gun wasn't fired from his gun, I guarantee."

"But if the door was looked from the inside then how did the killer get in?"

"Good." Sherlock offered a patronising smile. "You're finally asking the right questions."

I watched him as he sauntered off without a warning, John following almost immediately and myself remaining only to offer a quick 'Well what can you do' shrug and walked quickly to catch up with the other two. I had no intention of staying in that room any longer than necessary.

As soon as we were clear of the building I decided to voice my opinion. "I really don't like that guy."

"Not surprising, he's a bit of an imbecile- you can tell that from his name though." Sherlock smirked at me and I realised he'd figured out what I'd thought was so funny about the guys name.

"You can?" John looked confused, and I didn't blame him- back at home no-one ever seemed to understand what I meant that.

"Get two words meaning 'a stupid person', mash them together and you get Dimmock," I explained.

John still looked a little confused and I guessed was going to be running through his mental dictionary of insults to figure it out. I just hoped he wouldn't be mentioning it to Dimmock at all, his low IQ wrath was something to be avoided I'd wager.

"Well now we've got that out of the way I suggest we drop by the bank to tell Sebastian his worker's dead." Sherlock looked a little too gleeful as he wandered off to hail down a taxi, grinning like a loon and striding along with a swagger that was even more pronounced.

"I'm started to feel a little concerned for my wellbeing," I confided in John as we stared after him.

"Only a little?" he muttered back.


End file.
